


Return

by Jeanniemckeown



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanniemckeown/pseuds/Jeanniemckeown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippet from the return to 221B</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return

It had only been thirty-six hours, a dreamlike day and a half, and it felt almost too soon to be back here, up these stairs into the flat. He breathed in and was caught in a terrible trap, confused, between warring emotions. For so long this particular combination of scents had been in his memory only, entombed there, kept in memoriam. Now, with the startling events of the last thirty-six hours, he was back in the very heart of what his senses instinctively grasped at as _home_. He knew this should be a joyful thing, a resurrection. Instead he found himself panting, like a dog lost on a highway, caught between fight and flight and barely holding back a flooding panic.

 

“Where’s my skull?” Sherlock said irritably, emerging from the sitting room. “If Mycroft has taken that, I’ll set Donovan on him.” He noticed John, standing in the small foyer, bracing himself against the wall, and stilled. “John?” he asked carefully, taking a step towards him. “John. OK?”

 

“No,” John breathed, and shook his head. His hands he noticed, were trembling. “Jesus, Sherlock, the smells!” He closed his mouth, willing the shakes to stop. Sherlock frowned, then sniffed.

 

“Yes?” he said politely – he’d been so very polite since his abrupt return only _thirty six hours_ ago. “Yes John,” and he sniffed again, deeply, his face relaxing from a tautness John had barely noticed in his own adrenalin-fuelled reaction to their return.

 

Sherlock took another step towards him, reaching out a hand. “John.” He cleared his throat. “It’s 221B. It smells like us.”


End file.
